


My Turn to Decide

by tasalmalin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8320252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasalmalin/pseuds/tasalmalin
Summary: Growing up the heir to the greatest power in all the Nine Realms, Thor is waiting for it to be her turn to decide her own fate, to make her own choices. Together with her friends and her Loki, she decides that she's done waiting





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Non-graphic reference to corporal punishment of children, references to racist, sexist and colonialist aspects of Asgardian culture, some battle-related violence.
> 
> Notes: Title from King of Anything by Sara Bareilles

Amazing fanmix by  **[monkiainen](http://monkiainen.livejournal.com/) ** can be found [here](http://wordsbym.livejournal.com/33718.html)

~*~

Thor isn’t certain when she first began to suspect that there’s something, well, _wrong_ with being a girl. Her maids and nurses are unfailingly attentive. Mother is beautiful and strong and happy and the best Queen of Asgard ever. No guard disrespects her, and Father, when he has time to spare from keeping the peace in the Realm Eternal, is indulgent of her constant chatter and big dreams.

There’s just… something.

When she _knows_ there’s something wrong, however; that she remembers to the second. And, as with most (all) things, it’s because of Loki.

~*~

Thor and Loki are barely five years apart in age. On Midgard, where the people barely last three or four tenth-centuries, five years is practically half their lifespan! Well, almost.

But here on Asgard, they might as well be twins, and they are inseparable. If Loki is sneaking into the kitchens, Thor is sure to be on lookout. If Thor gets caught pranking their tutor, might as well save time and punish Loki, too.

It’s only to be expected, of course, with their similarity in age and being the only two children in the royal household. But for all that, Loki and Thor are very different people. Loki could sit at Mother’s feet and watch her weave the future for hours, while it’s a miracle when Thor has a single piece of clothing that isn’t covered in grass and mud. They’re forever dragging each other inside or out, intent on their favored pursuits.

And as they get older, the differences only become more acute. Loki discovers the written word, and has to be physically pried out his favorite squishy armchair in the royal library. Thor stumbles across the central barracks (almost a full day’s walk outside anywhere she’s supposed to be), and is enthralled with the rhythmic clash of sword on sword, with the grace and control of the soldiers’ bodies.

And when Loki discovers the green light, well, Thor starts to think she’s being replaced.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Loki says, when she complains.

Thor snorts. Loki may be the darling of their tutors, but she isn’t stupid. Father actually called a break in hearing petitions to see the green light, something he’s never done before, and now it’s all anyone (especially Loki) ever talks about.

Mother is delighted by the green light, and after a week’s struggle Loki compromises between his two dearest loves by hauling stacks of books to Mother’s study, so he can read and ask about the green light at the same time.

And where does that leave Thor? Out of desperation, she even tries to make the light herself, but nothing happens.

When Mother lets Loki sit beside her, guiding his hands through the weaving, well, Thor has had enough. They’re _never_ allowed to touch the loom; that’s the first and only rule of sitting in Mother’s study. It’s not fair.

She complains to Father, who takes her side with a fervor that Thor was entirely unprepared for. It’s not that Father doesn’t love them, or listen, it’s just that after a long day of squabbling realms and courtiers, he’s generally not that passionate about his squabbling children.

But this time he is, and he steps in and insists that the siblings are old enough now to spend some time apart, in their own pursuits. Which, Thor could have thought of that, she just didn’t want to. She wants things to go back to the way they were before, where she fidgets and reads the accounts of Asgard’s glorious past while Loki does Loki things, and then they run and chase each other and swim in the river and do Thor things. Together.

But Father just doesn’t understand. And then, to make things worse, he somehow mixes them up.

“This,” Loki says, with a fierce scowl, “is all your fault.” He eyes the practice sword in his hand like it’s a live snake. Well, like other people would eye a live snake, Loki loves snakes, and the fierce predator cats, and he’d probably love a bilgesnipe if he ever saw one. Loki has always been strange.

“I don’t know what happened!” Thor protests. “You think this is what I wanted? Yesterday Mother had me tied to my chair!”

Loki just glares.

“You know I’m right, you just don’t want to admit it.”

That never fails to get Loki riled. “No, you’re still wrong, because you went and got Father involved. You saw how upset he was that I have so much magic.”

Thor had seen nothing of the sort. Father is taking time just for Loki, Mother is taking time just for Loki, and no one cares about Thor. “I just wanted it to be like it was before,” she says sullenly.

Loki huffs out an aggravated sigh. “We have to fix this. And this time, instead of running to Father and bungling everything, we’ll start with observation.”

And in spite of being stuffed into a clean dress every morning and being forced to practice sewing with her mother’s ladies—under pain of being tied down again—Thor feels a rush of joy. Because this is what she’s missed; her and Loki, together.

What they observe, shouldn’t really be as surprising as it is.

“Everyone at the training yards is a boy,” Loki says, bruised and dirty and dragging his sword so it scrapes along the floor. The sound grates on her ears.

“And Mother’s handmaidens are all girls!” Thor says excitedly. This is a real clue!

“And the magic tutors are girls, and so is the librarian,” Loki says slowly, puzzling it out. “So maybe when you grow up, there are rules about what you can do.”

Thor considers this. “That’s stupid. You’ve got magic and I don’t, so how can I grow up to study magic?”

“We have to set an example for the realm,” Loki reminds her. This is one of Father’s favorite sayings, and it has featured in every family dinner for the last two weeks.

“Yes, but… I don’t like any girl things,” Thor says. “I want to go to the training grounds with you! If only boys can go, why can’t I be the boy?”

She doesn’t really mean anything by that, except to whine in the face of cruel injustice, but Loki gets that dangerous light in his eye. “Why not? Asgard has a Prince and Princess, but it doesn’t matter which is which, right?”

“Um,” Thor says.

Loki starts unlacing his tunic. “Come on, we’ll switch clothes, and then I’ll be you and you’ll be me, and you can do boy things and I can do girl things and everything will be fine.”

Thor isn’t so sure, but she _really_ wants a practice sword of her very own, so she starts tugging at her dress.

It’s fortunate, though Thor doesn’t think so at the time, that Father just happened to have a free moment that morning, and he’s the only one to see them when they emerge from Thor’s room.

They’ve been beaten before. Once when they snuck into the stables to see if they could ride one of the fierce warhorses (that was Thor’s idea), once when they tried to make some of the sweet bread they both love and started a fire in the kitchen (all Loki), and lastly when they touched Mother’s loom and broke a piece (that was both their ideas, it just looked so shining and beautiful).

This is the first time it’s just one of them.

Thor watches, clinging to Mother’s skirt like a much smaller child, as Loki howls and kicks and struggles futilely against Father’s broad hand on his shoulder. She should be down there, right opposite Loki, so they can look at each other and be brave for each other and Loki can give her that little wink and Thor can give him a tiny smile, and then Mother will pretend to forget a jar of numbing cream and they’ll soothe each other’s hurts and promise not to get caught again.

This was Loki’s idea, but Thor went along with it, and it could have been her idea if she’d just thought of it first, and anyway Father can’t know that. He’s no Heimdall, to see all. They both wore each other’s clothes. They both switched places. They both should be equally at fault.

But they’re not. So somehow, it’s okay for Thor to be a boy, but not okay for Loki to be a girl.

That’s when Thor knows there’s something wrong about being a girl.

~*~

Loki doesn’t agree. Loki thinks there’s something wrong about being Loki.

They’ve never had such a fight, and they don’t speak to each other for days, while Loki lies in his room on his belly and glares at the wall and Thor sits with Mother and scowls at the snarls of her work.

Word around the court is that Loki is ill; whichever of them has the right of it, Thor and Loki can at least agree that they have somehow done something Very Bad.

Thor is so miserable—and, as Loki would say if he were here, unobservant—that it takes her three whole days to notice that Mother is angry.

That would be rare enough to be of note all on its own, but even more than that, she’s angry _at Father._

Thor can’t remember ever seeing her parents at odds before, and family dinners (sans Loki, who’s supposed to be ill and anyway is avoiding the hard wooden benches) are tense and uncomfortable.

It’s so unsettling that she sets aside their argument and crawls into Loki’s bed. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” she says, hiding under the blanket so no one can hear them whispering.

For a minute, Loki’s mouth is set in a tense, hard line, and she doesn’t think he’s going to answer. “Me neither,” he says at last.

“Mother and Father are fighting,” she says.

Loki looks surprised, but he doesn’t volunteer an explanation.

“Are we fighting?” she asks, quiet, tentative, very unlike herself. But she feels off-balance.

“You’re still wrong,” Loki says, but he just sounds sad now, and he sticks his cold fingers against her neck which he knows she hates.

“No you’re wrong,” she says, elbowing him in the side.

It quickly devolves into a scuffle, with the occasional “no _you_ ” thrown in, and Thor feels some of the tightness in her chest start to settle.

~*~

When Loki returns to public life, things change again.

Father sits them down and explains that it was perhaps too hasty to separate Thor and Loki entirely, and it’s to their and the realm’s benefit that they continue to be close and support each other.

Thor doesn’t need this explained to her. It’s obvious.

However, because they’re growing up, they won’t be allowed to return to their carefree lifestyle. Only little children grub about in the gardens, not future Princes and Princesses of Asgard.

So every morning, they go to the training grounds together, and every afternoon they have lessons with their tutors. It’s only in the evenings that they separate, when Loki goes to study magic and Thor has to endure more instruction in being a proper young lady.

“Why didn’t we do this the first time?” Thor asks, on her way to her first day at the barracks.

“Because Father doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Loki says.

Thor goggles. “You can’t say that.”

Loki shrugs, looking tense and annoyed and downright sulky. Which is just so frustrating; _he’s_ not the one learning the language of flowers!

Well, whatever. Loki will just have to get over it.

Once they reach the practice yards, there are rows and rows of boys, talking and laughing and wrestling, but when Thor and Loki walk by, they get quiet.

They don’t glare, or point and laugh, or do anything overt. Not to the royal family.

But they don’t welcome them, either.

Thor edges a little closer to Loki, who allows it even though they’re maybe fighting.

“Which ones are your friends?” she whispers.

He scoffs. “What friends?”

She blinks at him.

“Have you made many close connections among Mother’s ladies?”

“Well… no. I didn’t think of that.”

Loki rolls his eyes but tugs her along until they reach the very end of the row, with the youngest, smallest and most inexperienced fighters. Most of the strange boys give them unfriendly looks.

Well, if Loki has been going out of his way to be difficult, that might be warranted, but what has Thor done? She just got here.

Their group has thirty or so beginning students, and Thor doesn’t think she’ll ever remember all their names, with their identical practice clothes and haircuts and hard eyes. Their instructor is called Sergeant.

That she’ll remember forever.

“Keep running! Pick up those feet!”

“Ten more push-ups! No one’s giving you a sword if you’ll just drop it first thing!”

“Stand up straight!”

“Left! Right! I said right, aren’t you listening!”

…and so on.

When she drags herself in for a bath, she’s dirty and exhausted and sore everywhere.

“That was amazing,” she says.

“There’s something wrong with you,” Loki says.

She has even more trouble sitting for lessons than usual, the hard wooden bench is pressing uncomfortably against her sore muscles and the text she’s supposed to be studying is especially dull after being right there training to defend Asgard with her own two hands.

“If you kick my seat one more time, I will throw you out the window,” Loki hisses.

“I’m not kicking your seat.”

“Yes you are! You’re doing it right now!”

“Well it was an accident.”

“How is that an accident? I’m all the way down the table!”

“Is there a problem?” their tutor asks.

“No,” Thor and Loki say together.

They both wait until he’s gone back to dusting the library or communing with the scrolls or whatever the old man does when he’s not lecturing.

“I’m bored,” Thor whines.

“Did I complain about being bored this morning?”

“Yes!”

“Well get over it.”

Thor slouches down in her seat and deliberately kicks Loki’s chair.

He puts down his book with a thump, something about trade contracts that’s probably even duller than what Thor’s reading. “That’s it.”

Thor is older and taller and bulkier; there’s no way Loki can actually throw her out the window. Still… “Can you just explain it to me?”

Loki glances at her book. “Grandfather Bor’s conquest of Asgard? I thought you loved reading about battles.”

“I love _hearing_ about battles. I love _being in_ battles. Reading about battles is boring.”

“It’s the same as hearing about them, you just hear it in your head.”

Uh oh. He looks like he’s warming up for one of his rants, like that time one of his books maybe possibly fell in the bath that was in no way Thor’s fault.

“Um,” Thor says, hoping to forestall a lecture.

“Education is important; no one will take an ignorant ruler seriously, and you’re going to be Queen of Asgard someday. You can’t just ignore everything that doesn’t interest you. And if you’re already this bored, I don’t know what you’re going to do when you get to crop reports.”

Thor doesn’t know what that means and doesn’t want to. “Can’t you just explain it to me? Everything’s so much more interesting when you tell it.”

Loki actually stops talking. “Really?”

“Yes! Don’t you remember learning about the Nine Realms and you made that Yggdrasil model in the garden? You make things make sense.”

“It wasn’t that complicated,” Loki says, but he looks pleased. He’s even smiling a little. “Well, okay. This one time.”

Thor pushes her book over immediately, and Loki skims the account she’s been laboring over in about ten seconds.

Loki gathers green light around his hands and projects the image of a man onto the table. “When Bor first came to Asgard, there was no light in the sky…”

Thor is soon enthralled in the story. She misses when they would go outside and reenact these historical battles, her with great enthusiasm and Loki with an insistence on accuracy, but giving life to the story that no dusty old book could ever do.

This isn’t the same, but Loki’s voice and words and magic make the stories just as special.

~*~

In the mornings, no one approaches to Thor or Loki at the practice yards, ever. Well, except Sergeant, but he doesn’t count.

That’s fine; they have each other to talk to.

“It’s not good for you to only speak to each other,” Mother says.

In the afternoons, they have private lessons, away from the small palace school. Loki is dedicated enough to his studies for ten people; he doesn’t need supervision so much as a servant with a broom to chase him out for meals every once in a while. Thor’s short attention span was the bane of many a tutor, and only the fact that Loki taught her everything again once they finally escaped the classroom saved her from Father’s intervention. After years of frustration on all sides, tutors now give their notes to Loki, who teaches himself and Thor, and the whole process is indifferently supervised by the ancient librarian.

So once again, they have only each other.

“You need to make other friends,” Mother says.

In the evening, Thor still refuses to cooperate with the lessons in being a lady. She’s just not interested. Loki is thrilled with his lessons in magic, but he’s taught quietly in Mother’s rooms, and there’s never been any mention of him joining other magic students.

They don’t have each other then, but they can wait. Both are more than capable of making their own entertainment.

“You need to make other friends,” Father says, when Loki first learns to summon fire and Thor somehow tears a priceless tapestry she’s supposed to be mending.

Father’s word is law, so they’ll have to make some friends.

The day after that discussion, Thor and Loki are scrubbed and stuffed into their formal clothes and ordered to be on their best behavior at the feast tonight.

“This seems ominous,” Loki says.

Thor just frowns at her dress.

Instead of being seated with their parents, they are sent to a smaller table filled with the sons and daughters of minor nobles.

Loki bares his teeth at them.

Thor steps on his foot. Hard. “Good evening!” She bows, remembers she’s wearing a dress, and almost falls over her own feet trying to correct herself.

Someone snickers, and Loki is suddenly the soul of courtesy, taking her arm and directing her to a chair before she can further make a spectacle of herself.

Thor plasters a big smile on her face and reaches for the food. It’s probably for the best to keep her mouth full. After a moment’s thought, she passes the bread to Loki instead.

He gives her a look like he knows exactly what she’s thinking, but takes a bite anyway.

The feast is long and tedious, though the food is good at least. There are a few stories told, but Thor’s been spoiled by Loki’s illusions and it’s not as exciting as she remembers. Though still more exciting than the conversation at their table.

The man next to Loki is called Volstagg. He’s considerably older than them, and has fought in many wars, enough so that he has chosen a specialty weapon, a massive double-bladed axe. Thor doubts she could even lift it, but Volstagg is the biggest Aesir she’s ever seen, almost a small giant, and when he demonstrates a few simple moves he handles the weapon with ease.

It’s very impressive, but Volstagg is a man grown, with a wife and child, and Thor can just imagine Father and Mother nodding and smiling over ‘such a good influence’ in their children’s lives.

Loki, of course, couldn’t care less about Volstagg’s prowess in battle. After spending half the meal pointedly ignoring everyone, he’s done nothing but chatter at the man on his other side. Thor has no idea what his name is, because he hasn’t spoken once. It doesn’t seem to be bothering Loki, though. He does love the sound of his own voice.

Thor sighs. She wishes she had someone to talk to.

But the man on her left is Fandral, with a charming smile, quick wit and flirtatious manner.

She dislikes him on sight, and that’s before he refers to himself as ‘Fandral the Dashing’.

Thor understands, objectively, that as Crown Princess of Asgard she will one day be expected to marry. But she has so much she wants to do before that day, so many dreams to pursue.

She’ll worry about marriage when she has to and not a day before.

Her other dining companion is a girl. Sif. Nice, pretty, and with a scowl for Fandral that kind of reminds Thor of Loki, but still. Thor wastes enough of her day on girly stuff as it is.

She reaches for a sweet pastry, more so she doesn’t have to think of something to say than because she’s still hungry, and smiles weakly at whatever Fandral just said.

This dinner can’t end soon enough.

Thor isn’t surprised to find Volstagg, Fandral, and the mystery guy at the practice yards the next morning. Volstagg is at least pretending to be here to help instruct the students, but Fandral has obviously been ordered by his father (or Thor’s) to make nice with the Prince and Princess.

What mystery guy is doing here is anyone’s guess.

Thor and Loki exchange a look. As tedious as it will no doubt be, they should at least pretend to talk to other people instead of just living in each other’s pockets. Mother did ask. And Thor is picking the exercises up more quickly than Loki—probably because he never practices—so it might even be a good thing.

The practice yards fall silent, and Thor automatically comes to attention, expecting to see Sergeant.

But no.

It’s _Sif_.

She’s wearing what are obviously practice clothes, but not the same basic trousers and tunic ensemble as the men. And Thor. Her tunic is a little too long, almost like a very short dress. She’s also kept her hair long, though right now it’s in a very no-nonsense braid. Still obviously a girl, but just as obviously she’s here to work.

Sif marches right up to their group and crosses her arms, daring anyone to say anything.

Fandral looks like he might, but Volstagg steps on his foot.

“Newest recruits on the end,” Loki says. Certainly _Loki_ wasn’t going to say anything about how girls shouldn’t be in the army, that girls can’t fight, but he doesn’t seem all that impressed by Sif, either.

Well, Thor can be impressed enough for the both of them.

They finally start drill, and this is Sif’s first day but she’s going to be amazing, Thor can tell already, she’s strong and graceful and she only needs to be shown a move once before she can copy it perfectly. One jerk catches her braid and tries to pull her off-balance and she head-butts him, bloodying his nose.

Thor thinks she’s _beautiful_.

“I suppose,” Loki says, much later when all their lessons are over and they ought to be in bed.

“I want to grow my hair out,” Thor says.

“You hated having long hair.”

“And I want an outfit like hers.”

“You don’t care about clothes.”

“Loki!”

“What? What am I saying that isn’t true?”

“Well… I guess I thought, if I dressed more like a boy, and looked more like a boy, they would accept me.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “That’s ridiculous. They don’t accept me, either.”

Thor kicks her feet and makes an unhappy noise.

“Look, just… give me one of your tunics.”

Thor immediately jumps to her feet and runs for her closet.

“Why do I feel like I’m being taken advantage of?” Loki grumbles.

Thor isn’t sure what she’s expecting, magic of some kind, but Loki sets out a needle, thread, and a small knife.

“Hers was probably custom-made, but this tunic was always big anyway, if we let out the hem it should look more or less the same.” He starts picking at the stitching.

Thor stares.

“What?”

Well, she knows _that_ tone. “Nothing! Just… wondering who that guy was. That you were talking at.”

Slowly, Loki relaxes, then goes back to working on her tunic. “His name’s Hogun. He’s Vanir.”

Thor’s eyes widen. “Like, from Vanaheim?”

“Obviously.”

Thor has never met anyone who isn’t Aesir. Not personally. She’s seen a few foreign delegations, from a distance, but foreigners aren’t allowed in the family wing of the palace. She tries to remember if she noticed anything strange about this Hogun person. “So… can’t he talk then?”

“What are you talking about, of course he can talk. Vanir are physically very similar to Aesir, though they generally tend to have stronger magic. Culturally they’re very different, of course, but they do _have_ a culture and society of their own. Don’t you ever listen to me?”

Thor tries not to blush. “Yes! I was just… wondering.”

“He’s just a quiet person. Not that _you_ would know anything about that.”

“Shut up,” Thor says, punching his arm. But gently, because that’s her clothes he’s mangling.

“He just came to Asgard,” Loki says. “I think it could be interesting to hear about the other realms.”

Not if Hogun doesn’t talk, Thor thinks. Still, this is very real progress. Loki doesn’t like anyone besides Thor and Mother, yet he’s already making an effort to socialize with Hogun. Now she just has to convince him how completely amazing Sif is, and everything will be perfect.

~*~

It is perfect. Well, nearly perfect. Besides all her other admirable qualities, Sif is almost as clever as Loki and they pretend to tolerate each other for Thor’s sake but secretly they’re friends, Thor’s sure of it.

And Hogun is interesting, and very good with a sword. Thor was intensely curious about him—a real live Vanir!—until Loki pushed her in the river for gawking like a country girl at market, _which she wasn’t_.

No one else talks to them, but Thor doesn’t much care. Father ordered her to make friends besides Loki, which she did, and the subtle exclusion is easy to ignore. No one would dare be overtly rude to her, the Crown Princess of Asgard.

Of course, they do dare be rude to Loki, who is a member of the royal family even if he isn’t expected to inherit the throne. Thor offered to yell at them, fight them, even tell Father, but Loki told her to leave it alone, they’ll be promoted soon enough.

Well, _Thor_ will be promoted, and she suspects Sif and Hogun would already have been promoted if they weren’t obviously assigned to be companions to the Prince and Princess, but Loki is going to be stuck doing drill with the babies until Ragnarok if he doesn’t actually exert some effort to learn anything.

It’s so bad that Father notices, and of course he drags Thor to his study instead of Loki.

“Deal with your brother,” he says.

No one ‘deals with’ Loki. And why does she have to be involved?

But Father’s orders are Father’s orders, so she’ll have to think of something.

Father suggested that she begin this evening, since Loki is free, but that just proves that Father doesn’t know Loki very well. Loki may have learned everything Mother knows about magic, but he hasn’t lost the desire to know everything. When Father put his foot down about outside tutors, Loki started choosing books from the library at random.

He fails more than he succeeds, something about magical affinities that mostly went over Thor’s head, but there will be Hel to pay if Thor interrupts.

So she waits to confront him until the next morning. It’s during training, which Loki is always happy to be distracted from and therefore might actually take her suggestions. “Let’s try something new today,” she says.

“You’re tired of sparring with Sif and Hogun?” Loki asks.

“No!” Thor says quickly, checking to see if Sif is offended. “I just thought, maybe we should spar today.”

Hogun shrugs.

“Really,” Loki says. He looks suspicious.

Thor tries not to blush. She’s really not good at deception, that’s much more Loki’s forte. “We should hone our skills against different opponents,” she says, in a flash of inspiration.

“That makes sense,” Sif says.

She’s always so understanding.

Loki rolls his eyes at them.

He’s just annoyed because Sif and Thor are right and he doesn’t want to admit it.

Thor tries to be understanding. It’s not that Loki is stupid, whatever their peers in the practice yards might think. Obviously Loki isn’t stupid. If he could find some way to eat books, he’d never leave the library. He finds the most tedious things fascinating, and he remembers all kinds of useless detail about irrelevant things.

Thor is the complete opposite. It doesn’t take more than a few pages before she’s ready to be _doing_ something. It’s all interesting enough, and she feels the weight of her future duties strongly, but it’s just _so boring._ Without Loki to break everything down for her, to illustrate the stories and act them out and build models with her, she never would have made any progress in her lessons.

But as much as Thor hates to sit and read, Loki hates morning drill. As quick as he is to memorize spellbooks, it takes him four and five times as long as anyone else to remember even the most basic kata. It’s inexplicable to Thor, but no more inexplicable than her own habits are to Loki, she suspects.

Her responsibility here is clear. Loki helped her, and now she will help him. Whether he likes it or not.

“Defend yourself,” Thor says, getting into her favorite guard position, the one that shows off her strong arms to their best advantage. Even some of the older boys can’t match Thor for brute strength, and it is an endless source of satisfaction for her. They don’t think girls can fight? She’ll pound the lesson into their skulls one at a time.

Loki is as slender as he’s always been, and noticeably shorter than her, but doesn’t seem intimidated in the least. “I could beat you easily if I were really trying.”

Thor tries not to grind her teeth at this blatant untruth. “Prove it, then. No holds barred.”

Finally, she has Loki’s complete attention. “If we were really fighting, I would simply set you on fire.”

“Right.” Father has expressly forbidden the use of any magic on the practice yards, which Loki has only gone along with at Thor’s insistence. Though privately, she can see Loki’s point. Why isn’t he training what he’s best at? “Well, let’s go out to the Forest after lessons today and you can try and set me on fire.”

Loki blinks. “Seriously?”

“It will be just like old times.”

Sif and Hogun have stopped sparring—if they ever started—and are watching the exchange with interest.

“You can’t really set people on fire,” Sif says.

Loki gives her a predatory smile. “Can’t I?”

“Combat magic,” Hogun says, which might be the most Thor’s ever heard him say.

“We’re definitely doing this,” Thor says.

Proud as she is of her success at securing Loki’s cooperation, she hasn’t exactly missed the days of him constantly trying to set things (especially her) on fire. As soon as training lets out, she sneaks into the armory and borrows a shield. They haven’t had much to do with shields so far, but they’re supposed to be enchanted to resist magic and Thor will take all the help she can get. If she’s going to get Loki to listen, she’s going to have to win decisively.

She leaves the enchanted swords alone. She isn’t _that_ desperate.

Sif, Loki and Hogun have already saddled their horses by the time she gets to the stables. “Sorry, sorry, I’m here,” she says, rushing over to where someone has thoughtfully ordered her horse prepared for her. “Let’s go.”

The capital city of Asgard stretches almost as far as the eye can see in every direction. Well, except where the Bifrost is, because that’s just the infinite void of space. The point is, it’s more than a day’s ride to the outskirts of the city, and then another day of farmland before you reach any form of wilderness.

But the Royal Forest is right on the palace grounds, and although everything interesting has long since been chased out, it still provides some privacy, and there’s a fine swimming hole less than twenty minutes ride away.

It also has a decent-sized clearing, which is of more immediate interest to Thor at the moment.

“Okay,” Thor says, when the horses have been settled and everyone is eager to get started. “Same rules as usual, no permanent injury, respect your opponent’s tap-out. Only thing is, magic is allowed.”

Thor pauses, then looks at Hogun and Sif. They’ve never said anything about knowing magic, but then they’ve never _not_ said anything, either. Well, that should keep things interesting.

“I want to go first,” Sif says.

Loki is _Thor’s_ brother, isn’t there a rule that _she_ gets to go first?

But Loki doesn’t complain, so probably Thor shouldn’t, either. And she’s never actually seen Loki try and fight with magic before, she’s always too busy ducking.

“Okay, then,” Thor says. “Begin!”

She immediately thinks this might have been a bad idea, because Loki tosses his sword on the ground. Just, right in the damp grass, where it’s probably rusting on the spot. He is so aggravating sometimes.

Sif maintains a guard stance, unafraid but cautious, which is only sensible when facing an opponent whose abilities are unknown.

Unknown to himself, as well, because aside from (mostly jokingly) using Thor as target practice Loki has never actually tried to use his magic in battle.

Maybe Thor should have thought this through more.

Too late now, because Loki gathers light around his hands and shoots a small fireball in Sif’s direction.

She smacks it out of the air with her sword.

For one, long moment they just look at each other.

Then they explode into motion.

Thor barely has time to keep track of whether they’re maiming each other, too busy trying to keep Loki from burning the forest down to notice anything else. It was a(n unintentionally) brilliant to plan this little outing right next to a waterfall.

She looks up just in time to see Loki throwing an actual wave of fire, which Sif barely ducks under in time. She has the utmost faith in Sif’s skill, but… she can’t watch this. Thor concentrates very hard on her self-imposed task of dousing fires, and lets Hogun handle the refereeing.

That resolve lasts about twenty seconds, then she has to look again. Sif is looking a little singed around the edges, but her face is set and her stance sure. And Loki is starting to tire. Thor may not understand exactly how his magic works, but she’s certainly heard enough times that it takes as much effort—if not _more_ effort—than swinging a sword around.

Time to call it?

But no, clever, infuriating Loki tumbles backwards and picks up his sword, which doesn’t seem wise until, with a shimmer of green light, he’s suddenly holding two swords.

“Hmm,” Hogun says.

High praise, indeed.

Still, Sif is brilliant with a sword, and she knows Loki’s left-handed, so it’s only to be expected that they fence less than a minute before her sword is at his throat.

The way his sword explodes is a bit of a surprise, though.

“That was amazing!” Thor shouts, almost falling out of the tree she’s climbed. There was a particularly tricky flame caught in the canopy.

Loki almost never wins sparring matches and is generally resigned to that fact, but just now he’s looking decidedly mulish.

“Both of you!” Thor adds, actually falling out of the tree this time. “You can’t expect to be perfect on the first try, Loki!”

He holds on to the pout for another few seconds, then accepts Sif’s hand up. “I suppose. The fire simply doesn’t have enough substance. The intensity decreases with distance, so any competently constructed weapon can block it. I’ll have to tie it to something for it to be effective. Arrows, maybe.”

“Darts?” Hogun suggests.

“Or knives.”

This isn’t quite what Thor was going for. “But think how powerful you could be if you mastered magic _and_ weapons,” she says.

“Your swordplay is weak,” Sif says, in her blunt way.

Loki frowns, then shrugs. “It wouldn’t have mattered how good my swordwork was if the sword had just held the enchantment I cast on it.” He pokes at the charred hilt that’s all that remains of his practice weapon. “The metal isn’t well-suited for it. Perhaps a staff?”

Thor sighs. “But you’d still need to learn how to use it.”

“Disciplined body, disciplined mind,” Loki says, like he’s ever cared even a little about having a ‘disciplined body’.

Still, it’s something. “Father will be pleased to see you taking an interest in training,” Thor says, trying to salvage what she can from this adventure.

Loki frowns. “You think?”

“Well… of course.”

He isn’t.

“I expected you to remind him of his duty,” Father says. “And to motivate him to perform it.”

“I did!” Thor says. “Sergeant says that once he gains a little more height he’ll be a force to be reckoned with with a quarterstaff, and he never misses his target with those little knives of his.”

“A warrior of Asgard,” Father says, “does not use ‘little knives’ and sticks; he wields a sword.”

Thor doesn’t have anything useful to say, so she keeps her mouth shut and tries to grind her teeth as quietly as possible. She didn’t want to be involved in this mess in the first place, but it’s still aggravating to learn that she’s wasted all her efforts.

“He wasn’t happy, was he?” Loki asks, when she sees him later.

“How did you know?”

Loki shrugs. “He’s never happy with me. You’re lucky, really; he never would have allowed a _girl_ into the army if his son weren’t such a hopeless disgrace.”

“Loki! He doesn’t… he doesn’t think that!”

“Oh, but he does. There’s no question that you’re taller, stronger, and much the better warrior.”

“Well…” Thor can’t actually refute any of those points. Loki’s smarter and brilliant with magic, but… Father doesn’t particularly care about either of those things. An argument could be made that small, delicate Loki with his unusual dark hair and even more unusual green eyes is prettier than big, tough, muscular Thor, but she certainly isn’t going to mention _that_.

Fortunately Loki can’t actually read her thoughts. Yet. “He finds my choice of weapon inappropriate, yes?” he asks, like he already knows the answer.

That is, of course, exactly what Father said, and Thor is suddenly just done with this whole situation, but especially Father’s attitude. “Well it doesn’t matter what he thinks,” she says.

Loki’s eyes go very wide.

Thor claps her hands over her mouth. “I didn’t mean that!” she says, checking to see if anyone is listening. Loki is the one who makes trouble with Father, not Thor, and if a single guard breathes a word of her disrespect she’ll be in serious trouble.

But Loki is laughing, so at least she’ll have that to comfort her in her exile.

~*~

Thor and Loki grow up, as children do. Thor towers over him for their entire shared adolescence, and then Loki seemingly catches up in a single night.

It’s fine; Thor’s still a whole inch taller, and that’s what’s important.

Thor sets a record for most consecutive tournament wins and then breaks it. Twice. She’s formidable with the traditional two-handed sword of Asgard’s armies, but when on her official coming-of-age-day the dwarves present her with a magical hammer, she is unstoppable.

Sif’s the one to finally end her winning streak, and Thor's never been happier to be dumped in the dirt.

Loki does finally pass all the tests to become a full-fledged warrior of Asgard, armed with a quarterstaff he carved himself that is obviously and defiantly magical. And he’s gotten even better with those knives, using magic to bend them around obstacles and even, once, through solid rock.

Father doesn’t attend the tests, which Loki notes and then aggressively ignores.

Mother does, with a sad sort of smile, and Thor doesn’t even need to say anything to Loki, he already knows not to involve her in any sort of conflict with Father. Loki kisses her cheek and accepts her congratulations, and everyone pretends not to notice the empty chair.

Still, their childhood is by and large a happy one, and as they transition to young adulthood, it looks like there will be more of the same.

Until war comes to Asgard.

Well, that’s what the criers say, filling the streets with proclamations and declarations. Thor finds it all a little deceptive.

War hasn’t come to Asgard proper in centuries, even before Father was born.

What actually happens, is the rock trolls invade the dwarven capital on Nidavellir.

Part of the treaty between Asgard and Nidavellir requires the dwarves to abstain from having a standing army. In exchange, Asgard swears to come to their defense in the event of any invasion.

Because Asgard has a similar treaty with the rest of the populated universe (except Midgard, which hardly counts), and has a monopoly on the Bifrost besides, this effectively guarantees complete peace among the Nine Realms.

Most of the time.

The rock trolls aren’t civilized beings in the strictest sense of the word, and they have no need to travel between realms; they dwell in the darkest corners of Nidavellir, at the very peaks of the highest mountains or in the slimy depths that even the dwarves avoid. They periodically pick away at isolated mining groups, or small settlements, but every couple of centuries they gather for a more concentrated assault, showing a certain animal cunning.

Thor was too young the last time, having barely begun her training.

But not now.

“Hurry up, Loki!” she says, trying to subtly hustle him down the hall.

He obstinately refuses to be rushed. “You are the Crown Princess, the head of Asgard’s armies in Father’s absence,” he says. “They won’t leave without you.”

The absolute last thing Thor wants to think about right now is the looming responsibility of this campaign. Oh, she’s not in charge, not really, that falls to the generals, but with Father staying in Asgard, they will have to include her in all their councils. Since the closest she’s come to battle is bilgesnipe hunts, it’s a little daunting.

Suddenly she’s suspicious of Loki’s dawdling. After all, this will be his first battle as well.

“We’re taking the Bifrost,” she says.

“Obviously,” he says, but does pick up the pace a little. Thor is as awed by the Bifrost as the next Asgardian, the most visible symbol of Asgardian sovereignty except possibly the Allfather himself. But Loki…

Loki is fascinated by the Bifrost. He spent hours combing the library for anything about its creation, drove Heimdall to distraction hovering in and around it, and constantly begged Father for permission to go somewhere, anywhere, so he could see it in action.

Thor was worried for a while there that she’d wake up one morning and find Loki had built one in his room.

Father said no, of course, and Loki had to content himself with watching diplomatic envoys arrive from afar. Until now.

“All right,” Loki says, allowing himself to be tugged along.

The army is standing in perfect formation on the rainbow bridge, awaiting the Allfather’s send-off. Thor and Loki hurry to take their places.

“For the glory of Asgard!” Father shouts, raising Gungnir high.

“For the glory of Asgard!” they echo as one.

The Bifrost is much more impressive from the outside, Thor decides. Her lasting impression is that she wishes there won’t so many men around so she could be sick. Sif gives her a comforting pat on the shoulder.

Loki, of course, is enthralled.

But he doesn’t have much time to dwell on the experience, because the Bifrost drops them just on the other side of the ridge from the fighting. Dwarven miners, armed only with pickaxes and whatever else was handy, are taking heavy losses as they struggle to keep the massive trolls away from the more heavily populated areas.

“For Asgard!” “For Asgard!”

They charge.

Thor and Loki have been charged to stay together, which she took as an acknowledgment of both their skill and value, and Loki took as an indication of Father’s lack of faith in his ability. Whatever the case, Thor, at least, is happy to have him at her back, and Sif and Hogun as her strong right and left hands.

They speak with some of the defenders, and head up one of the peaks to help a group of dwarves that got separated from the main group.

She takes Mjolnir from her belt and begins to spin it rapidly.

She wants to say some inspirational words, but there’s no time. “Stay together,” she says, and then the trolls are upon them.

She flings Mjolnir with all her might, scattering trolls and destroying the knee of one of the bigger ones. It collapses on its side with an ear-splitting cry and a thunderous crash.

It’s too far for any of their party to reach, but the dwarves swarm their fallen foe, smashing its head with pickaxes, cudgels, rocks, even bare fists. The others she knocked down are starting to rise, apparently unhurt by the glancing blow.

Thor hears the familiar sound of Sif running, and kneels in time to hold out her hands and give her a boost. Sif flies through the air with a fierce yell and drives her sword deep into a troll’s eye. On Thor’s other side, Hogun swings his mace into hips and kneecaps, aiming to incapacitate.

Thor holds out her hand and Mjolnir smacks into her palm. “Lightning?” she asks Loki, who is poking at a fallen troll with one of his knives. It doesn’t seem to be making much of a dent in the thick hide.

“They are creatures of earth and stone,” he says. “I doubt lightning will make much of an impression on them. See how they shatter like boulders?”

She can. “They seem weakest at the joints,” she says, winding up and striking a troll right under the chin. “Or the head.”

“Hmm,” Loki says, only half-listening. The knives disappear into his sleeves, and he kneels with his staff outstretched, muttering under his breath.

“Yes, Thor, excellent point,” Thor says, and takes up a defensive position beside her brother. “But I think I’ll just ignore that and do something else instead.”

“Are you talking to yourself again?” Sif asks, matter-of-factly wiping troll blood off her sword.

Thor shatters another kneecap, then gestures at Loki.

“Ah,” Sif says, launching herself at an approaching troll. Her sword is less effective against the tough trolls than the blunt force of Thor’s hammer or Hogun’s mace, but she makes up for it with skill and speed. All creatures (that Thor knows of, at least) have eyes, and these trolls are no exception.

Loki abruptly stops chanting, and when he opens his eyes they look like green flames.

“Um,” Thor says, “we should probably move.”

Hogun has already leapt onto a nearby rocky outcropping, always sensitive to Loki’s magic even though Thor’s never seen him perform any of his own.

Thor and Sif help each other scramble up the rock face, and not a moment too soon, because actual, for real _lava_ erupts in a circle around Loki.

It melts everything it touches, miring trolls up their knees or just dissolving the ones that lose their footing, and more than one dwarf shouts an insult or two in their direction as they race for higher ground. The main Asgard force is on the other side of the peak, where everyone can pretend Loki isn’t doing magic.

The older Thor gets, the less she understands some of Father’s decisions.

“Well,” Sif says. “I guess that’s one way to do it.”

“Have you been experimenting with fire again?” Thor asks. “They’re still rebuilding parts of the dungeon.”

“That was your fault,” Loki says, edging closer to the center of his small, rocky island. “Little help here?”

“It was not,” Thor says, even as she obligingly spins Mjolnir and takes flight. “I wasn’t even there.”

The only thing Loki hates more than the fact that she can fly and he can’t is when she doesn’t share the experience. He doesn’t even complain about being carried.

“But seriously,” Sif says. “Lava?”

“We’re standing on a volcano,” Loki says. “Inactive. Well, it was inactive. I didn’t create the lava, just… moved it a little.”

The trolls that didn’t die immediately don’t seem to be able to break themselves free, so it looks like this little pocket is pretty much taken care of. The ground is impassable, so Thor has a tedious job ahead of her of throwing Mjolnir back and forth to take the rest of them out.

“Was inactive?” Hogun asks.

There’s an ominous rumbling.

“Loki!” Thor shouts, even as they race to get off the top of the mountain.

“Okay,” Loki says. “ _Possibly_ , this is my fault.”

“But the trolls are defeated,” Sif says.

“Don’t encourage him,” Thor says, trying to calculate how fast they can run versus how fast a volcano can erupt.

At least there are no dwarves in sight. Smart dwarves.

The ground heaves again, and cracks start opening.

“Okay,” Thor says, “everyone get close to me.” She begins spinning Mjolnir.

She’s just about built up enough speed when the ground gives a final, massive heave and explodes, sending them all flying.

Thor has one arm around Sif’s waist, and Sif manages to grab Hogun by the back of his shirt as he flies past.

Of course, _of course_ , Loki goes sailing off in another direction, right over a cliff.

Thor aims Mjolnir at the sky and takes off in midair, always a chancy proposition, but the magic takes them and she gets herself and her two friends up and away from the ominously red ground, dodging flying rocks and choking on the smoke and ash clogging the air.

Eventually they get clear, and she goes into a steep dive, too steep really, the wind scraping painfully at her exposed skin, down past the same cliff where she last saw Loki. It’s too late, really, no matter how fast she flies now, unless he’s managed to grab hold of something, which he might have, he’s quite clever really, has all kinds of tricks at his disposal…

Her heart clenches when she sees the crumpled form at the base of the cliff.

Sif and Hogun get kind of a rough landing as she skids to a stop at Loki’s side, but she can’t bring herself to care about that right now. There’s no way that sprawl of limbs is natural, he… he has too many arms?

“What is this?” Sif asks, holding up a handful of… feathers?

“Ow,” Loki says, sounding distinctly garbled.

“You crazy idiot!” Thor shouts, wanting to hug him but worried that she’ll do more harm on top of whatever it is he’s done to himself this time. “We were fine?”

“There were dozens of them, and only four of us,” Loki says, still sounding strange. Maybe he’s broken his jaw. “And I didn’t mean for the whole mountain to go like that. Minor miscalculation. Don’t suddenly displace magma.”

“But seriously, what did you do?” Sif asks.

Loki groans and struggles to sit up. The crazy splay of his limbs is revealed to be not so bad, from a certain point of view, because he didn’t break his arms, he has two massive wings emerging from his back. Hawk, like they take on hunts, if Thor’s any judge. And Loki’s face, when Thor can see it properly, is… distorted. His eyes are all funny looking, and his mouth is protruding oddly.

“I tried to shapeshift into a bird,” Loki says.

“Of course you did,” Thor says. “You know better than I that there hasn’t been a true shapeshifter in Asgard since Grandfather Bor’s time.”

“So we’re about due,” Loki says, prodding at his mouth. “It did work, after a fashion.”

“And what fashion is that?” Sif asks.

“I fell off a cliff and I didn’t die,” Loki says.

Hard to argue with that.

“Only you, Loki, would react to a fall like that by trying to grow wings and fly,” Thor says.

“ _Succeeding_ in growing wings and flying,” Loki says, wincing as he tries to move his shoulder. “Landing could have gone more smoothly.”

Thor and Hogun help him to his feet, leaving Sif to watch for enemies. He’s much too light, like he’s managed to shapechange more than the obvious.

Hogun pokes at one of the wings questioningly.

“That does have sensation, you know,” Loki says.

“I think he wants to know if you’re planning on changing back anytime soon,” Thor says.

“I’m working on it,” Loki says.

In the end, they miss the entire rest of the battle, which is less fighting off hordes of trolls and more trying to shore up the settlements to protect them from the sudden volcano. Though as Loki points out, there are only one or two actually affected by the eruption, and both are adequately protected by Asgard’s forces.

They take their time walking instead of Thor flying them up, because it takes Loki hours to change back, and even when he claims to be done, Thor would swear his eyes are a different shape.

General Tyr doesn’t actually ask if Loki set off a volcano, but he certainly looks it very hard.

Thor keeps her head down during the post-battle briefing and doesn’t volunteer much, though she does make a point to mention how well her companions acquitted themselves. From a certain point of view, they won the battle almost by themselves.

Though she doesn’t mention that, because that would require acknowledging the volcano.

Once all the talking is finally over, the dwarves invite their Asgardian saviors to a grand feast in their honor. Thor has never been away from Asgard before, or in the company of a significant number of non-Asgardians, and she’s rather looking forward to it. What do dwarves eat? What kind of music do they listen to? What sorts of stories do _they_ tell?

Hogun never talks about Vanaheim, and the library is surprisingly sparse on the cultural practices of the other realms. Loki isn’t the only one who gets curious, sometimes.

The men are in good spirits, Thor sees. They brought provisions for three days, and General Tyr had expected the battle to last a full day, possibly two. Because of Loki, it only took half of one.

She reaches her assigned room, small but neat, as befits her station. Loki’s is across the hall. She packed a dressier version of her usual uniform, Father having finally given up trying to convince her to wear dresses, and she thinks the red looks very fine against her golden hair. Mother frequently mentions that it’s her best feature, along with a gentle hint that she should let it grow out, but Thor keeps it at the shortest length appropriate for a noble(man) and not a bit longer. It just gets in the way.

Loki knocks and then lets himself in without waiting, which is typical. He’s wearing basically the same outfit in green, though he keeps his hair so long that he is sometimes mistaken for the girl from the back. Thor truly does not understand how he doesn't get it caught on everything, but Sif is the same way, so perhaps Thor is just especially clumsy.

“Fix your collar,” Loki says, fussing with Thor’s clothes and tugging at her hair and generally being obnoxious.

“You still have feather patterns on the back of your neck,” Thor says.

He smooths his hair down to cover it. “I’ll figure this out,” he says.

Thor has a feeling this new obsession is going to be a big problem, and knowing Loki, he’ll somehow make it _her_ problem. “What do you care what I look like anyway?” she asks, batting his hands away.

He just smiles, trying to look mysterious, and refuses to answer.

They step out into the hall and Thor almost runs into Sif, who is waiting for them.

“What took you so long?” she demands.

Thor just stands there gawking like a fish.

Sif is wearing a _dress_. It’s as golden as her hair, which is left loose to curl past her shoulders, and something about the full skirt and the cut of the sleeves makes her arms and shoulders look slender, almost delicate, even though Thor saw her decapitate a rock troll just a few hours ago. The bodice is intricately embroidered in some kind of pattern, and Thor tries to decipher it until she realizes that she’s just staring at Sif’s chest.

“Um,” Thor says, blushing.

Loki looks almost unbearably smug.

“One moment,” Thor says, tugging Loki back into her room and slamming the door.

“Well that was everything I could have hoped for,” Loki says.

“I didn’t even think to bring a dress!” Thor wails. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

Loki puts his hands on his hips and scowls. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I didn’t even do anything with my hair!”

“Thor. Try to get a hold of yourself. You hate wearing dresses. You complain endlessly when your hair gets long. Remember that time you cut it yourself with a hatchet?”

Thor flushes. “You promised not to mention that again!”

“I thought you got over this ages ago,” Loki says, ignoring her completely. “Have you considered, just throwing this out there, that you don’t want to _be_ like Sif, but that you _like_  Sif?”

Thor gapes. “What, like…” She flails a bit, trying to convey her meaning with sign language.

“Yes, like that,” Loki says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, but…”

“Isn’t Sif the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen? She’s second only to you as a fighter, the superior swordsperson, clever and educated and ladylike when she’s inclined to be? Your strong right hand and a good and understanding friend? Isn’t she lovely in her dress?” Loki presses.

This is nothing Thor hasn’t said about Sif a thousand times, but to hear Loki say it, she suddenly feels the hot flare of jealousy. She glares at him suspiciously.

“Oh for Hel’s sake,” Loki says, throwing up his hands. “I haven’t the slightest interest in Sif like that, you dolt.”

On the one hand, Thor can’t imagine anyone not thinking Sif is the most incredible person in all the Nine Realms, but on the other, she’s thankful Loki doesn’t feel that way. Because Thor does. She has for ages. Maybe since that first day on the practice courts.

“Ah, the light dawns,” Loki says.

“But… does she… go out there and ask her what she thinks about me!” Thor says, strongly tempted to hide under her blanket and not come out.

“Absolutely not,” Loki says. “The only person in Asgard who doesn’t know the two of you are crazy about each other is Father, and I think it’s just willful blindness at this point. Now get out there.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me push you.”

“Can you at least put my hair up?” Thor asks.

Loki sighs, heavily, but with two twists and a pin from his own hair he has Thor looking almost like a lady.

“Thanks,” she says.

“Just try not to do anything too embarrassing.”

“No promises.”

Thor hadn’t missed that not-so-subtle hint about Father’s likely reaction, but she finds that she just doesn’t care that much.

She opens the door, and there is Sif, patiently waiting, a warm smile on her face. That smile is for Thor, the sometimes clumsy and usually awkward girl who loves her brother and her friends and admires Sif to distraction, not for the Crown Princess or Odin’s daughter or Asgard’s finest warrior.

Father will probably disapprove; Loki has a keen instinct for when Father will disapprove of something, usually right before he goes and does it anyway. Thor has always tried to be the good child, an obedient daughter, a worthy heir.

But nothing about loving Sif makes her less, or takes away from ability to rule Asgard with a firm, fair hand. If anything, Sif makes her strive to be better, stronger, more worthy. Thor will do her duty to the realm and produce an heir, but royalty frequently have arranged marriages, she can explain the situation in negotiations, the other party will understand.

And who knows, maybe somehow, someway, she and Sif will be Queens of Asgard, together. Thor can’t imagine a better companion or Queen.

She offers Sif her arm.

Sif looks at the arm, looks at Thor’s face, then blushes ever-so-slightly and settles her arm in Thor’s.

Thor doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything so charming.

Whatever happens, whatever Father says, Thor has made her choice.

This time, it’s her turn to decide.


End file.
